


Collection of Little (Plot) Bunnies

by sunshineisdelicious



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dimension Hop AU, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Dori, Female Ori, Ficlets, Mermaid Bilbo, Plot Bunny Collection, Plumber AU, Plumber Thorin, Return to Erebor AU, Thorin is lost, Time Travel AU, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 02:55:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4123246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineisdelicious/pseuds/sunshineisdelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated Hobbit ficlets and beginnings of stories that are bouncing around my head. All will feature Bilbo as female.</p><p>1. Mermaid AU - Thorin meets Bilbo the mermaid. Modern setting.<br/>2. Plumber AU - Thorin is an angsty plumber. Bella's house has serious issues. Modern setting.<br/>3. Time Travel AU - Bilbo dies at the end of a long life, but does not wake in Yavanna's Garden. She's back in Laketown, with a chance to change everything.<br/>4. Dimension Hop AU - Thorin & Co. are trekking through Mirkwood, until they aren't.<br/>5. Return to Erebor AU - Bramble comes back to Erebor. (Also an Everyone Lives AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mermaid AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin meets Bilbo the mermaid. Modern setting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,  
>  Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." __  
> Hamlet Act 1, scene 5, 166–167_

Thorin stalked along the pier, scowling at the water. He hated the ocean. Too big, too wet, too smelly. He'd much rather be home, with his nephews needling him to play some new game they'd learned, but this seaside property had recently become part of the Durinson's wealth of land and his boss (and father) had asked him to inspect it and see what needed to be done.

As if he knew what to do with seaside property. The beach wasn't even a proper sandy beach--just rocks. Was he supposed to hire fishermen? Build a house? Fix the far pier that had rotted through? Bah.

Something caught his eye as he walked. At first he thought it was a pile of ropes or tarp or something, but as he got closer to it, he saw it was a person. A person sitting near the end of the pier, apparently oblivious to the fact they weren't supposed to be there.

"Hey!" he shouted. He was in no mood to be pleasant. "You! You're on private property!"

The person turned. It was a woman with short hair, wearing a plain gray wetsuit. She watched his approach with something akin to amusement. "You can't own the ocean," she said in a musical voice.

"I've got a deed in my office that says otherwise. Property of the Durinsons, and you're trespassing!" He was close enough to see that her eyes were oddly reflective, catching the light from the sun and water.

She laughed and turned back to the water. "I'm not harming anyone, not destroying anything. I just wanted to watch the sunset.

The sun was indeed setting. If Thorin had been one to appreciate beauty in nature, he might have stilled for a moment and let himself get lost in the colors. "I'll call the cops," he spat.

"Oh? And what would the cops do?" she asked, turning. A line appeared between her eyebrows, as if she honestly didn't know what law enforcement did with trespassers.

He growled. "They'd get you off my land, that's what!"

She tilted her head. "Really? You'd make me leave?"

"Yes! Mahal's sake, woman, I want you to leave!"

She frowned, but sighed. "Alright." And pushed herself into the water.

"Hey!" he shouted, stepping to the edge of the pier. What he saw stopped him cold.

The woman was floating in the water on her back, and where her legs should have been was a smooth gray tail.

It might have been a costume, but it wasn't shaped in a way to accommodate human legs. It might have been mechanical, but the Durinsons were proud of being the first to know about anything worth knowing about. If there was technology like this, they would have heard of it.

Thorin did not believe in fairy tales. Life was too gritty and unforgiving and dull to have things like elves or ents or...or _mermaids._

The woman swished her tail in the water, smiling at him. He couldn't find anything to say. She laughed and ducked under the small waves, diving deep enough that he couldn't see her. A splash and a giggle to his right had him turning, and he was quick enough to see a curly wet head dive down again. Another splash behind him, and he whipped around but she was already gone. Was she... _playing with him?_ Had he lost his mind?

He stepped to the edge of the pier--maybe to try and coax her out again, maybe to jump in himself and try to wake up from this hallucination--and promptly fell through the weakened wood. His head struck something, and stars danced before his eyes as he passed out.

* * *

He was not comfortable. His mattress felt like it was full of rocks, and the sun was coming in far too bright from the window. Had he forgotten to close his curtains?

Oh. Right. Ocean. Drowning?

He warily opened one eye just a sliver. No, not drowning. Too much air for that.

He groaned and brought a hand to his forehead. "Ow," he moaned.

"What a human. Didn't even check to see if the wood was solid before stepping on it."

His eyes snapped open (which he regretted instantly). After a few more blinks, he found himself looking up at the woman from before. No--wait-- _mermaid_ \--

He scrambled away from her. They were on the rocky shoreline. His head had been resting on her tail (which he was _not_ going to have a panic attack about) and she was smiling at him.

"Um," he began eloquently. "You're--you--I don't--"

"I'm a mermaid?" she supplied. "Yes, I had noticed." Her eyes twinkled in the fading light of the sun. 

He took a moment to process the situation. "I was...in the water..." he started, looking back towards the ocean. The end of the pier he'd been on was a fair distance off.

"Well, I couldn't very well let you drown, human," she said, shifting a little bit on the rocks. 

Thorin looked back at her. "I'm Thorin," he said. "Um, thank you."

She smiled wide at him, and a chill ran down his spine--her teeth were all quite sharp. "I'm Bilbo. And you're quite welcome."


	2. Plumber AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is an angsty plumber. Bella's house is having serious problems.

Thorin blinkered to turn left into the driveway of the unfamiliar house. The GPS Dis got him for Christmas last year assured him he was in the right place. He would never say it, but he _loved_ the GPS. Especially in these small towns where the roads weren't in a nice orderly grid pattern.

He pulled in and turned the van off, taking a moment to look at the house. It was a beautiful building, with a "been in the family for years" sort of feeling to it. It wasn't a mansion by any means (no stone, no columns, no proper grounds), but it was large and welcoming. The duplex he lived in with his sister and nephews would probably fit in one quarter of the first floor.

His mouth twisted a little, but he shook himself and got out of the car. Business was business, even for big fancy houses.

The door was a cheerful shade of green, and he hated it almost immediately. What business did a door have being cheerful? He rang the doorbell and tried not to scowl. Dis told him that he did it often and it scared clients, “so at least _try_ to be pleasant.”

The doorbell played something classical sounding, and there was a great deal of banging and muttering and pained yelps as someone came to the door. It was thrown open, and Thorin was faced with a tiny, frazzled looking lady. He took a breath to introduce himself ("Good morning. I'm Thorin Durinson with Durinson's Plumbing and Repair.") but the lady started babbling a mile a minute.

"Oh, thank the Mother, you got here quick! I talked to someone on the phone—I think his name was Balin—and told him all about it, and he said you'd be here first thing this morning. Did he tell you what the problem was? Oh, I'll just show you, it's basically everything anyway. The sink drain isn't working, there’s something leaking in the kitchen, I don't know _what's_ wrong with the bathrooms, the water is coming out brown from all the taps, and something from the second floor is leaking through, so mind the buckets—"

Thorin followed the lady as she wound through the hallway, careful not to tip over the buckets and bowls that were catching drips of water from the ceiling. He was fascinated by her hair—curly and frizzy and the color of honey—but was a bit miffed at not being able to get a word in edgewise. He had a _system_. Introduce himself, review what they called about, ask to see the problem, fix the problem, and ask about anything else that might need fixing. This little lady was _messing_ with his _system_.

They got to the kitchen and Thorin raised his eyebrows. Towels were packed around the base of the sink, there were more bowls catching drips—it looked like a wet kitchen war zone. He turned to lady—wasn't it Boggins?—to ask about what on Arda had happened, and found she was halfway down another hallway.

“The downstairs bathroom is over here!” she called over her shoulder.

Thorin felt a drop land on his head and sighed. “Have you turned off the water?” he called back to her.

She paused and turned around. “Um, no. I didn’t know I could do that.”

_Don’t look at her like she’s an idiot, don’t look at her like she’s an idiot._

She frowned and her cheeks grew a bit pink. “Well, I didn’t know. No need to look at me like that, thank you very much.”

_Dang it._

“Sorry. Do you have a basement? The shutoff valve is probably down there.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Yes, but it’s...well, quite flooded, really. And nasty. I think it was a sewer pipe.”

“I can only imagine,” he said. “I’ll get my rubbers and check it out.” And some part of him shriveled inside. Mucking through someone’s sewer-flooded basement was a far cry from the executive corporate meetings of his past—although they were about equally as enjoyable.

She walked him back to the front door, wringing her hands, her bare feet dancing around the bowls.

“It’s...Boggins, right?” he ventured. He assumed this was the right place, from the obvious plumbing problems and the house owner mentioning Balin, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s Baggins. Bella Baggins of Bag End—now isn’t that alliterative?”

He rolled his eyes. “Practically poetry.” He’d told Balin many times to use the computer to write down callers' information. It wasn’t professional to mess up a client’s name, even if it was because of hard-to-read handwriting.

Of course, scowling at a client wasn’t very professional, either.

She smiled at him as she opened the door. “I do languages, books, that sort of thing. Haven’t got a whit what to do with the pipes and all.” She looked down the hallway behind them and sighed as he walked past. “Oh, dear da,” she said quietly. “He said the house would last as long as mama lived. Figures it all starts falling apart a month after she dies.”

Thorin paused on the front porch. It seemed callous to not offer condolences for the recent death of a parent, even if it was to someone he’d just met five minutes ago. “I’m...sorry for your loss.”

She waved him off. “Oh, tosh. Don’t be. She’s not in pain now, and is most certainly driving my father spare, just like she used to!”

He smiled. So many of the closest relationships in his life drove him up the wall, but he wouldn’t trade them for all the wealth of his past. “Most certainly,” he agreed.

She turned back to the inside of the house. “I guess I’ll keep trying to move furniture out while you work,” she said. “Probably going to end up having to renovate everything anyway.”

And there was an opening. “I, um...that is, I know some people. Flooring, electric, interior design, restoration—you name it. They could be here today, check it out, see what you have in mind. I could get you a discount, too.” Casually trying to promote his friends’ various businesses wasn’t easy for him—anything casual wasn’t easy for him. Kili certainly seemed fond of telling him so. “I could even get my nephews over here to move things, if you need the help.”

She smiled. “Family business?”

“Yes. They’re good boys, if a little enthusiastic.”

“Isn’t that good, though? Healthy dose of enthusiasm, to help them on their way?”

Thorin said nothing. “Enthusiasm” hadn’t helped anyone is his family.

“Well, I won’t lie, I would appreciate all the help I can get. If you recommend people, I’ll have them come give a quote. And have your nephews come. As long as they don’t drop anything fragile, mind!”

He nodded. “We’re at your service, Miss Baggins.”


	3. Time Travel AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo, upon dying, does not wake in Yavanna's Garden but in Laketown, with a chance to change everything.

Bilbo knew, as she closed her eyes, that she would not open them again as a living, breathing Hobbit. It was alright—she’d lived a long life, full of adventure and love and heartache. There were regrets, of course, but…well, nothing to be done about them now.

Valinor was beautiful, and she was happy that Frodo seemed to be smiling more now, but it was time for her to go. She told Frodo so, and the sweet lass cried for her, and Bilbo felt tears of her own running down her cheeks. Gandalf came when called (for once) and Lord Elrond did as well, and they all talked and smoked their pipes and Bilbo closed her eyes with a smile on her face.

She was looking forward to seeing her parents again. And not being in this old, tired body anymore—when was the last time she’d been able to run? She’d run to them, _mam_ and _dad_ , and wouldn’t they have a time of it! And, oh, the stories she’d hear. The origin of Hobbits, what the Wandering Days were really like, and maybe she’d even learn some more Hobbitish! It had always irked her that one language she would never know was the language of her people. She’d write it all down, a proper manual, unless someone else had done it already, of course.

When she opened her eyes, eager to see her mother’s bright eyes again, she was surprised to see a warped wood ceiling. Yavanna’s Garden was…well, outdoors, wasn’t it? She’d never died before, though, she told herself, mustn’t be too quick to judge. And they must have wood warping problems even in the afterlife.

As she sat up, she was surprised to feel so stiff and cotton-headed. Well, again, she’d never died before. Must take a lot out of a person.

And the _smell_! Ugh, fish and mildew and who knew what else. And her clothes were strange—a large shirt, one made for Men. And there were scrapes and cuts on her hands, and her feet and legs when she pulled off the blanket, and this place seemed _almost familiar_ —

A dwarf with a very distinctive hat burst through the door at the end of the hall, carrying two jugs of wine and laughing as though he’d already drunken a third. A dwarf with a very distinctive three-pointed hairstyle followed, scowling and shouting at Bofur, and then all the dwarves she had travelled with so long ago were piling into the hall, as loud and raucous and rude as she remembered.

Oin was the first to notice that she was awake. “Lass!” he cried. “That medicine I gave you should’ve knocked you out for the rest of the day!”

Bilbo sat on the lumpy mattress, her mouth hanging open.

The other dwarves had quieted down a bit, and she heard Kili say, “Maybe she’s not all the way awake. Like sleepwalking.”

Dori nodded. “Used to happen to Nori all the time.” She ignored the thief’s indignant protests and trotted over to the bed. “Now, just lie back down,” she said calmly, pulling the blanket back up. Bilbo did lie down, only because she was so confused that she couldn’t think, and curled tight into a little ball. Maybe…maybe there had been a mix-up…or perhaps she’d gotten lost on her way to Yavanna’s Garden?

Whatever had happened, it would probably be better when she woke up.

* * *

Things were  _not_ better when she woke up.

She was still in a lumpy, smelly bed, feeling like she was recovering from a wicked cold (which she had been, she remembered). She was still surrounded by the dwarves of Thorin’s company. It still smelled like fish.

She was quite certain that she had lived to the over-ripe age of 130-something and travelled to Valinor with her niece. There were years of memories, even if they were growing hazy, like dreams, and she did not put so much stock in her imagination as to have imagined a whole life for herself, especially with such evils as Sauron and the Ring—

—the Ring. Oh, Green Lady help her, she still had the wretched thing, didn’t she? Her first instinct was to check her pocket, but her waistcoat was tucked by her bag at the end of the bed. Her second instinct was to throw up.

There was a great deal of swearing and bustling and yelling for a clean shirt.

Bilbo groaned and tried to wipe her mouth with her sleeve, but Dori had a firm hold on her arm. “No need to make more of a mess. I’ll help, once Ori gets a wet cloth. Let’s just get this off you.” Bilbo just whimpered and closed her eyes, letting Dori move her arms to better pull the soiled shirt off.

There had been regrets in her life. Her biggest was taking the ring, ruining her niece’s life and her own, because she, the aunt, the guardian, wasn’t able to do what had to be done. Frodo had been happier in Valinor, the burden of Ringbearer beginning to lift off her little shoulders. And though in truth Bilbo was merely a cousin to Frodo, she loved the girl as her own and would have done nearly anything to have prevented the light from ever leaving her bright eyes.

Valinor had healed Bilbo, too. Just a little. Being in such a place, with such a reflective people as the elves, at the end of her life, had given her perspective she’d never had before. She saw the ring for what it was—evil, manipulative, addictive—and some of the elves had given her and Frodo ways to deal with the addiction that still held even though the ring was destroyed.

And…what was this? Coming back to Laketown? Was this some sort of test, a dream world, before the peace of the Garden? Or…maybe…a second chance?

Bilbo sat up straight, clutching the blanket to her chest. Her eyes were open, and her mind started racing. Could she change what had happened? Here, where the only one she had ever loved enough to marry had died, and then after, with the Ring? She could…destroy it, now, before Sauron’s power was truly gathered. And the Arkenstone—the blasted thing—could she destroy that as well? Or perhaps curb the dwarrow’s gold-lust tendencies before it got out of hand! And the battle, and Azog—she could save Thorin and Fili and Kili!

There was so much she was thinking about that she barely heard Dori speaking to her. “Bilbo, dear? Maybe you should lie back down—oh, here’s the shirt and cloth, thank you, darling.” The slide of wet cloth on her skin brought her back to reality, and she cast her eyes about the room.

“Paper! Parchment, or…whatever, and something to write with!” she cried. The dwarves traded uneasy glances as Ori scrambled for some extra papers and a charcoal pencil she had. There was a wild look in their Hobbit’s eyes. Dori was barely able to tug the shirt over Bilbo’s head before Ori gave her the supplies.

“I can change it,” she muttered as she began scribbling down important memories, thoughts, and plans. “I can change the future.”


	4. Dimension Hop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin & Co. are trekking through Mirkwood, until they aren't.

Thorin was lost.

He was trying to act like he knew exactly where he was going, but he had lost the path, and he was doing his best not to give in to his rising panic.

This blasted forest wasn’t helping. The trees were strange, spindly things covered with decaying mosses; the ground was spongy, and gave unpleasantly under each step; the intensity of the smell of rotting plant life ranged from “mildly sickening” to “extremely nauseating;” it was far too quiet and he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his ears; and the hunger--nothing to eat, nothing to drink. He was killing his company.

They were taking his slow murder of them pretty well. There wasn’t any energy left to complain anyway, so they shuffled and stamped along behind him as he wandered. They were snappier with each other, but even being snappy took energy. At least Bombur had woken from his cursed sleep and they no longer had to carry him. And without food, their packs were a bit lighter.

Bramble had surprised him with her lack of complaint, and he felt even worse for her starvation. A kindly, plump creature, used to food and the safety of her cozy little hole-in-the-ground, should not be following him through a cursed forest without even food for her trouble. She had been growing steadily thinner since they had left the Shire. Her cheekbones were now obvious, her clothes were loose, and her skin had lost its dewy glow. Even her dark golden-red curls seemed to be duller, lying limp and tangled. But she had stayed, stayed through all the sordid mess he’d led them into, and her determination and hope gave him courage.

The perpetual twilight of daytime began to fade, and he called for them to stop and make camp.

He took first watch. It was hard for him to sleep with those glowing eyes watching them from the trees.

Dwalin sat next to him as the company settled down for a restless night. He took out a whetstone and one of his knives and started sharpening it. The dark was not so thick that dwarf eyes couldn't pierce it, so he wasn't in danger of accidentally cutting himself. Once the mutters of the others faded to snores, he spoke.

"So."

Thorin sighed. "This isn't exactly how I imagined how we'd go."

Dwalin snorted and held out his knife. "Can't say I did, either. Starving in this forsaken forest...can't swing a blade at hunger."

Thorin nodded and looked over his company. Bramble was close to where he sat, snuggled near Fili and Kili. _Can't swing a blade at my own incompetence._

* * *

The first thing Thorin noticed when he woke was that he was waking up--and he wasn't supposed to be asleep.

He lurched upright. He was alone--his company! Where were they? All gone, even Dwalin, but...

...where was _he_?

The trees were different. They were spaced farther apart, with healthy leaves and trunks, and sweet sunlight filtered through to the ground. The chirps and hums and scuttles of forest life surrounded him.

It was...nice.

Bramble would’ve liked it, he was sure.

Which of course brought him back to the fact that he had no idea where his company was. _Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic._

There was the lightest of sounds behind him, like a footfall, and he turned to see an elf with long red hair regarding him with a little frown.

He scowled.

"Are you lost, Master Dwarf?" the elf said, stepping a bit closer.

"Even if I was, I would not require assistance from _you_ ," he spat.

The elf's eyebrows rose but she did not counter the slight. "As you wish, Master Dwarf," she said with a nod. Then she flitted off through the trees with a shimmer of red.

Thorin's scowl deepened. Balin said his temper with elves would get him into more trouble than he needed. He didn't want to prove his mentor and friend right in such a thing.

Grumbling to himself, he stood, brushed himself off, and tried to decide which way to go. The elf had probably been heading somewhere, perhaps somewhere with people he could ask for directions or the location of his company. Part of him wanted to head the exact opposite direction of the tree-hugger, just to be contrary, but seeing as he had no food or direction, he ignored his pride and started following her, placating himself with the knowledge that if he were in different circumstances, he wouldn't even consider following an elf to civilization.

He quickly noticed that there was an obvious trail left for him--footprints, broken branches, crushed leaves, the like. Elves could move through the world without disturbing even a speck of dirt, so the trail was probably just for his benefit. The realization that the elf was aware that he was following her almost had him doing an about-face, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.

After walking for only a few minutes, his stomach made itself known again. He pressed a hand against the growls and scanned the ground. Hadn't Bramble said mushrooms were edible? But not all of them, he remembered, and he didn't fancy a hallucinogenic death because he didn't know which mushrooms he could eat. He sighed and kept walking, doing his best to ignore his stomach's protests.

He rounded a tree a short time later and saw a small bag in the middle of the trail. When he crouched down and nudged it open, he saw it had a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, and some jerky in it, as well as a waterskin.

Every proud, dwarvish instinct in him screamed not to take the bag (which was obviously left for him). Another part, with a voice that sounded a great deal like Bramble, told him that he was starving and lost and alone and this elf was helping him, _so for goodness sake, bury your pride._

He thought about it for a moment more, then sat down where he was and began to eat. There was one of those faint footfalls again, from near a tree to his left, and he sighed. "I know you're there," he said after he swallowed a bit of bread and cheese (they were quite good). "You might as well come out." _A bit harder to stab me in the back if I can see you._

There was a pause of a few heartbeats and then a voice sang out from a ways up the tree. "You will continue to eat if I do?"

Thorin scowled again. Why was this elf being _nice?_ "Yes."

The elf dropped from the tree, landing softly. "I am called Tauriel, Master Dwarf," she said with a little bow of her head.

"Rin," he returned. He didn't do much more than slightly tilt his head. He still had _some_ pride. And he was wary of revealing himself to a strange elf.

There was silence after that. The elf stood looking off into the trees, not seeming to be anxious or impatient. All the same, Thorin took his sweet time eating.

"Tell me, Tauriel," he said after he had finished and tied the waterskin to his belt. "Where am I?"

Tauriel turned to him. "You're in the woods on the outer rim of the kingdom of the Shire. I patrol here."

Thorin frowned. The Shire hadn't been a kingdom, last time he checked, and since when did elves patrol the lands of Hobbits? "I...see. And who rules this kingdom?"

"Queen Bramble, of course," she said. "She's a good Queen, very honorable." She shifted her weight and her voice became a bit wary. "You must be from a very distant land not to have heard of her and her family's part in the Orc War."

Thorin felt more lost than ever.


	5. Return to Erebor AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bramble comes back to Erebor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes we choose a path in life. Sometimes we change our minds.

Thorin walked down one of the many hallways the ran through Erebor. He didn't really know where he was (though he wouldn't admit it to anyone), but he was content to wander. It was late, he wasn't needed elsewhere, and he was enjoying the workmanship of this kingdom his ancestors had carved, this house of stone. 

He had another reason for wandering. Here, in the still of night, he could be Thorin. Not a king, not a diplomat, not a hero, not a villain. Just...Thorin.

Thorin, who missed the wee lass from the Shire who'd stolen his heart.

He sighed a little as he walked. He'd given up on trying to forget her. How could he? Memories were all he had left. Her spirit, her strength, her laughter, her tears--how could he forget such precious things?

A mosaic decorated the wall of the room the hall led to. He stopped to look at it, both up close and from across the room. Would Bramble like it? It was a depiction of Moria, just before Durin's Bane had chased the dwarrow out. There were people of all classes and crafts, from the statesmen at the upper levels to the miners in the deep. It had been beautifully restored, with gems and colored stones in tiny fragments adding depth and color.

Bramble would probably prefer a garden, he thought as he turned to another hallway. A picture made of flowers, not of stones.

There was the glint of gold ahead, and he sighed. His wandering had brought him to the gold-floored Hall of Kings, and he knew where he was again. He skirted around the hall. The gold lust no longer plagued him, but the memories of his actions did. No matter how many times his friends reassured him that all was forgiven, he did not forgive himself. He had driven off one of the people most dear to him, had hurt her and...

He rubbed his eyes and made his way to his rooms. The heavy door swung open silently, but he was sure a guard somewhere had heard it and reported the king was turning in for the night.

One wall was under construction, but it was covered so a draught didn't come in. He had been working on a space for a garden right outside the royal apartments. It was high enough off the ground that it wouldn't be a threat to security. There would be a thick glass frame over it as well (he had requesting some books about gardening and a glasshouse was recommended for harsher environments). 

It was nearly complete. In the five years since the Lonely Mountain had returned to Durin's people, he hadn't had much time to work on his project, but he hadn't given up. It was...a memorial garden. For Bramble, yes, but also for all those in his life that he'd lost, in one way or another. One of the books had addressed a language of flowers and other plants, and his garden would be his way of saying,  _ I remember you. I miss you. I'm sorry _ .

He sat in a chair by the fire, his head too full of thoughts to sleep. As he stared into the fire, he let his mind wander to the painful, beautiful might-have-beens. He imagined curly hair braided with carved wooden beads, bright laughter as he recounted what ridiculous thing the stuffy lords of the council had requested that day, listening to her chatter about maps and books she’d found in the libraries, and those kaleidoscope eyes reflecting back the love he felt for her. 

He sighed and leaned back in the chair, eyes roaming the tapestries on the walls. For all the beauty of this place, for all the grandness of this kingdom, it was not a home. Not to him.

\--

Bramble sat on the bench outside her front door, scowling at the daisies in front of her. She’d planted them this morning, hoping they would cheer her up. 

It wasn’t working.

She felt ridiculous for needing cheering up at all. She was a grown Hobbit, not an adlebrained tween! Skies above, was five years not enough time to--to--

Huffing, she stamped into her smial and shut the door just a bit too loudly to be polite. 

Time to try the kitchen. 

Plum turnovers were soon steaming on the table. She cleared the dirty dishes, made herself a nice cup of tea, and sat down to eat. The first bite was gummy, though, and the second was even worse. 

She tried telling herself her tears were for her poor plum turnovers. 

This was altogether out of hand! She didn't have time for this! For goodness sake, she was a Baggins, and she needed to pull herself together. 

But the keening in her heart didn't cease at such practicalities as her heritage and family expectations. She sniffed again, staring at the grain of the table through her tears, and made the rather un-Bagginsy decision to just cry it out. 

She cried for her friends she missed dearly. And she missed the freedom of being herself among them. She cried for a future without them, without...Thorin, the stupid dwarf she loved. There! She loved him! Five years of living, five years of moving on, five years of living in a big, lonely smial, and her heart still yearned for him. 

She wanted...oh, she wanted so much! To see Erebor and Dale filled with people, to laugh with her friends, to get an apology from Thorin and to tell him she had quite forgiven him. To live a life that would bring her joy! 

Some days were fine. She went about her normal Shire-centric life, and hardly even thought of Erebor. Some days, though, like today, were simply awful. She felt cowardly and miserable and lonely.

It quite suddenly struck her that she could go back to Erebor. Almost as quickly as she thought of it, she shoved the thought aside. After all that trouble to get back to Bag End! And goodness, to leave again?

But...well, which was worse? To live here, lonely and feeling desperately out of place, or to try her luck in Erebor once more? It was a terrifying thought. Terrifying and thrilling. Her heart pounded.

But this was her home! And as soon as she thought it, she paused. Was this her home? It was a house, for certain, the house her father had built for her mother, the house she had grown up in. There were memories upon memories here.

And that's all there was--memories. No one filled the halls with laughter or singing, no one sat before the fire and read books with her. Her companions were ghosts.

Her thoughts were scaring her. She jumped up from the table, cheeks still wet from tears, and hurried to the library. She had to distract herself, keep these...traitorous thoughts from taking over.

The more she tried not to think about it, though, the more she did. She was lonely. She was living life, yes, but she was not happy. She remembered Gandalf’s words from years ago--”You will not be the same.”--and knew it was true.

It took nearly a week for her to come to the decision to go back to Erebor. To go back home.

\--

Thorin sat in the the iron throne and tried not to nod off. Did these lords practice to make their voices as monotonous as possible? They had talent indeed to render even the most important topics absolutely soporific. He looked to his right, where Fili and Kili sat, and pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. 

Kili was completely gone, his head leaning on his chest and a line of drool running down his chin and making a wet spot on his tunic. Fili was fighting a losing battle against his eyelids, jerking his head up every so often. _ Mahal bless these nephews of mine. _

The sudden crash of the chamber doors startled everyone present. Kili snorted and fell out of his chair and Fili leapt to his feet with a wild look in his eyes, his fists raised as if for a fight. Even some of the other lords seemed to jerk awake.

It was a gate guardsman, judging from the uniform, panting as if he had sprinted the whole distance from the gate. 

“Your majesty,” he gasped, “your majesty, you are needed at the gate.”

There was muttering from the gathered dwarrow. Thorin frowned and looked to Balin, standing on his left. “I can come with you or stay for damage control,” Balin said softly.

Thorin sighed. “The meeting’s almost over anyway,” he said. “Let’s end it early and then head to the gate.”

The guardsman hurried them to the gate after the lords had been dismissed. Fili and Kili had insisted on coming, and they hurried ahead when Thorin and Balin were too slow for them, even with Fili’s limp.

“Another caravan from Ered Luin?” Thorin speculated as they walked.

Balin shook his head. “They always send letters ahead, thanks to your sister’s insistence.”

His nephew’s shouts and laughter from around the corner had him quickening his pace. Was it a cousin, or a friend of theirs? That still didn’t really qualify the king himself to come down and greet them.

And he turned the corner and saw sun-browned skin and curly hair the color of wheat and heard laughter like a summer breeze and came to a full stop.

Bramble?

She peaked at him from Kili’s enthusiastic embrace and smiled. It was a timid smile, a bit wary and a bit hopeful and even more beautiful than he remembered. 

Slowly, half thinking he was in a dream, he walked forward. Fili saw him coming and tugged Kili away from Bramble, and then Thorin was looking down into beautiful hazel eyes and could think of nothing to say. He reached up to softly tug one of her curls, and it was real and soft, and  _ by Mahal, she’d come back. _

Bramble took a shaky breath and reached up one small hand to wrap around his. “I’m here,” she said. Her voice was the music that ran through his soul, and he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers, feeling bright and finally, finally at peace. “I’m home.”


End file.
